


I'll Never Be Alone

by gaygreekgladiator (ama)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/gaygreekgladiator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chadara is about to leave, and then the Germans arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Never Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivlee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/gifts).



Chadara thinks about absconding from camp when Gannicus is there. After years of bowing and scraping to the Romans, she is eager to break free of them and of these slaves who are determined to remain on Roman soil. Gold to pay her passage out of Italia, a map to gain her safety—that is all she needs. In the end, though, she decides to wait.

She doesn’t know why. Perhaps it’s because she wants more time with Nasir. _Nasir_. The man is unfamiliar to her now, so different from her friend Tiberius, but still she loves him. She wants to draw out the farewells, especially since Nasir does not know that it is a farewell. Besides, Gannicus is too well-known and trusted by some members of the rebellion. Crixus, Naevia, Oenomaus, and countless gladiators remember him; she is not confident that they will blame him for her crimes.

So she waits. She spends her days wandering around the temple with Nasir or Mira or Camilla—anyone who isn’t busy at the moment. They all seem to be busy. Like they have a place here, unlike her.

And then Agron returns from Neapolis with a swarm of new fighters, and her heart swells. The timing is perfect. There are unknown, untrustworthy rebels among them. If she slips away, map and gold in hand, Spartacus’s first thought will be that one of the Germans has taken them. The rebels will be so busy trying to ascertain whether one of them is absent that her own absence will not be noticed.

Nasir leaves her side to greet Agron, and Chadara smiles sadly at his back. He will hate her. But he will live—she will make certain to tell the Romans that some are held against their will, and Nasir is smart enough to understand.

\---

Later that night, she sits on the edge of the crowd and watches the Germans, her mind drifting lazily from subject to subject. She is not the only one studying Agron’s people. They are loud, boisterous, larger than life—larger than _slaves_. Even with the language issue dampening their brilliance, they are sparks of fire in a camp long left dull.

It takes a long moment for her to realize that one of the Germans is looking back at her—a woman, with a fierce gaze and tangled gold hair. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and then the German stands. She fills a bowl with the last remains of the stew and approaches Chadara. With a confident grin, she holds it out.

Chadara isn’t hungry; every nerve is on edge, her stomach a mass of roiling snakes. She can’t put a finger on the reason why. Perhaps the gods are punishing her. She lifts a hand to decline, and shakes her head.

The woman holds out the bowl again and says something insistently. Chadara looks deliberately into her eyes, and then looks away.

“Agron!” the woman barks suddenly. Agron, who is the middle of a conversation, looks around, and she shouts at him some more. He rolls his eyes.

“She says the food is good,” he calls to Chadara. “Eat, while there’s meat left.”

Chadara looks at the bowl again, and reluctantly accepts it. Meat had been a rare treat in the past. She takes a spoonful, and the woman sits beside her with a grin.

“Saxa,” she says with a toss of her hair.

“Chadara.”

As she eats, Saxa keeps up a steady stream of conversation, hardly seeming to notice that Chadara can’t understand her words. Much of it seems to be gossip or insults about her fellows. She gestures repeatedly at individual Germans, and occasionally makes rude gestures that are impossible to misunderstand. Chadara can’t help but smile, and she laughs more than she expected to.

“Gratitude,” she says as night falls.

She stands, and Saxa stands with her. She touches her forearm, her fingertips hovering over sensitive skin, and Chadara’s breath catches. The smile is gone from Saxa’s face, and her grey eyes are as piercing as steel in the low light.

Finally, the German says something that sounds like a farewell, and Chadara stumbles away.

When her thoughts are cleared, she turns her feet towards Agron’s room. The map is in his possession, and he will still be cavorting with his people. He has claimed a small antechamber beside Spartacus’s chambers, one shared with Donar out of necessity.  There is a curtain allowing him and Nasr privacy, and she draws it back to find several bags of supplies that he deems most important. She worries briefly for a moment over whether she will be able to distinguish the truly vital information from the rest, when there was a voice.

“Am I so obvious?”

She jumps and turns around to find Nasir, and lets out a breath of laughter.

“Did you think me a Roman?” he says teasingly, and she holds out her hands. He squeezes her fingers fondly.

“With unfamiliar faces crowding camp, one can never be too careful,” she grins.

“You spent an entire evening by Saxa’s side; I do not have that kind of bravery. Were you looking for me?”

Relief overwhelms her. Yes—that is a perfectly good excuse to be found nosing through Agron’s room. She glances at the bags, and hopes fervently that Nasir is not taking to bed just yet.

“Yes. I wished to say good night.”

“Sleep weighs heavy on the mind. That was my cause for seeking you, as well. Would you mind if I shared your bedroll tonight?”

She freezes, her thoughts racing.

“I—I had thought you were to be at Agron’s side, having been absent from it when he was in Neapolis.”

Nasir shrugs absently.

“He rises with the sun to hunt, and my sleep has been disturbed of late.”

Hers, too. She thinks of the nights spent in their villa, sharing Nasir’s mattress and whispering and cuddling with the innocence of children. The memory is like a wound, reminding her of everything she has lost and will lose. She nods, absent words, and wraps her arm through Nasir’s.

Nasir sleeps soundly through the night, and she envies his peace.

\---

The next evening, Saxa approaches her again—this time with wine. She holds it out, her lips pulled in a feral smile, which Chadara returns. She accepts the skin, not bothering to protest, and takes a sip.

“Gut?” Saxa asks.

“Bonum,” Chadara corrects, in Latin. “Vinum bonum est.”

Saxa laughs triumphantly and sits beside her, clapping her on the back. Chadara can’t tell if it is the wine or the woman’s closeness that sets her nerves sparking. She ignores the problem, and keeps drinking.

At some point in the early evening, Donar approaches Saxa. He speaks their tongue, but Chadara can tell the gist of his words. Saxa is not the kind of woman to cling to a man just because she has bedded him. Chadara looks away, a red blush coloring her cheeks. She has never been ashamed of what she has had to do, for protection and power—it’s never been something that her fellows have shamed her for. Most slaves understood her position.

Mira did not. And Saxa… she’s never been a slave. Chadara thinks she wouldn’t, either.

“Chadara?” Saxa says cautiously. The word sounds good in her voice—harsher. Less Greek, more wild. Chadara smiles feebly and tries to look unconcerned.

Saxa smiles and stands, turning to Donar with a coy look. Then, just as his lips start to curve in a smile, she puts him in a headlock.

A startled laugh erupts from Chadara’s lips, and her hand flies to her mouth. Roars of laughter and approval come from the Germans and several of the rebels as Saxa promptly flips Donar onto his back, planting her foot on his chest and raising her hands like a triumphant gladiator. After a moment of celebration, she walks back to Chadara, leaving Donar to be helped up by Agron and one of the Germans, both of whom mock him ruthlessly.

“Imperator!” Chadara dubs Saxa laughingly as she returns, the swagger of a conqueror in her walk. She holds out the wine skin as prize, and Saxa takes a swallow.

She gestures for Chadara to stand, which she does, puzzled. Saxa beckons her twice, impatiently, but Chadara isn’t sure what she’s asking. She glances at Agron.

“My people have a fondness for sport,” he explains.

“She wants to fight?”

He shrugs. Chadara looks at Saxa and shakes her head apologetically.

“I don’t fight.”

“Sport,” Saxa repeats with a grin.

She spreads her arms, and the Germans start to laugh and chant encouragement—some in Latin, if they can manage it. There’s a challenge in Saxa’s gaze, and despite herself Chadara grins back. She makes a big show of standing, taking a swig of wine for luck, and setting it down. Diffidently, she makes her hand into a fist.

“Wait!” Agron interrupts. He steps forward and corrects her, telling her the best way to make a fist, to position her weight, and to swing. The Germans jeer, calling it an unfair advantage, but he waves them all away. He’s being kind to her for Nasir’s sake, she knows, but that doesn’t make his advice less grateful, and she thanks him.

She has a feeling it will take more than his instruction to give her the advantage over Saxa.

Chadara steps closer, and tries to punch the German. Saxa dodges out of the way, unsurprisingly. What is a surprise is that she grabs Chadara’s arm, and with the other hand grips her waist and then her leg, and suddenly Chadara is in the air, being swung over the woman’s shoulders.

A shriek of laughter escapes her lips, and the night wind whistles through her ears. Saxa turns in a tight circle, enough to send Chadara’s hair streaming, and then sets her down, and Chadara clutches her shoulders for balance as she stumbles. Saxa’s hands are at her elbows, holding her steady.

“Bonum?” she asks.

“Gut,” Chadara giggles, and before she can react, Saxa leans forward and kisses her. It’s a fierce, joyful kiss, and she’s too surprised to respond.

When Saxa pulls away, she raises an eyebrow smugly. Chadara smiles, and they sit. Saxa turns to watch the other playful fights breaking out in the center of the square. She throws an arm over Chadara’s shoulders. After a moment, tentatively, Chadara wraps her own around the German’s waist, and thinks idly about the map, the gold, and the long, tiring walk back to Rome.

\---

Her hands are shaking. Chadara retreats into the stone safety of the inner temple, where no one can see. Outside, the Germans keep up their steady beat, and Sedullus body lies on the steps.

It’s stupid—but she’s never seen anyone die before. Not like _that_. When Spartacus liberated her villa, she and Nasir were in Dominus’s room for most of the actual fighting, and she has never been trained for battle. She has never seen a blade enter living flesh, bringing the poison of death with it.

A hand touches her shoulder, and she tenses. Of course it’s Saxa. She forces down her nausea as Saxa turns her around, concern on her face.

“Gut,” Chadara says. She’s tired of people, too tired to try and explain. “Ich… gut.”

Saxa ignores her, either because her German is completely intelligible or because she’s Saxa, and she never does what’s expected of her. She takes Chadara’s right hand, and kisses her palm, and folds it into a fist. Chadara thinks she knows what that means. She lets out a shaky breath and tries to smile.

Slowly, Saxa leans forward and presses their lips together. There is nothing fierce about her, this time—it is strong, and sure, and Chadara closes her eyes and gives over to it. Saxa kisses with her entire body. One arm snakes around Chadara’s shoulderblades, a hand buried in her hair, while the other wraps loosely around her waist. Her head tilts, her waist twists. There is space between them, but it’s inconsequential. The world has shrunk to Saxa’s arms, and Chadara fits perfectly within them.

She breaks the kiss and rests her head on Saxa’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to bare skin.

“You’ve been up since before dawn,” she says, trailing her fingers lightly down the woman’s bare arms. “You should go to sleep.”

Neither moves; Chadara is content to stay here until the world ends. She closes her eyes, and Saxa holds her close.


End file.
